No Passion without Fire
by Dr. D. Fox
Summary: The War is over, but the repercussions are just now being realized for a warrior without a cause and an ex-villain lost between the lines. All they have left is the old grudge. But they say love is just passion set on fire… Warning! "Dark" Harry, M/M, Angst, Violence, some Romance- this isn't your usual Draco/Harry Fluff! Rated M for future chapters.
1. Not the World We Remember

Disclaimer: I don't own anything- the world of Harry Potter, the characters, or any of the songs found in this story.

A/N: Apology in advance for the length of this first note, the rest won't be this long, I promise! Also, most of the others will be at the end of a chapter.

WARNING! Contains M/M, Violence, Abuse, Kink, Semi-nonconsent, Drinking, Language and a bunch of other MATURE themes. Also, Draco/Harry slash, Hermione and Ron bashing, Dumbledore bashing, and probably some others being bashed. If you don't like those- stop reading!

This story takes place after the end of DH, sans epilogue. If you are expecting the usual (though wonderful) fluff that most of the Harry x Draco fics out there are (unrequited emotions, soul mates, gentle scenes and peaceful love-making) then you are going to be shocked by this story. There is an excessive amount of hatred, violence (out of bed and in) sex that has nothing to do with love, prejudice, angst, more hate and over all- what it's like after something as devastatingly bloody as a war. I took a lot of liberties with this, so please understand that not everything will be perfect. I'll get details wrong, characters will (purposefully) not fit perfectly into their cardboard cutout, and sometimes I'll forget things. I'll be happy to make some corrections to it for technical stuff- but please don't make the little things your primary reason for reviewing. I've seen too many perfectly good stories get torn down because they got some silly little detail wrong.

Each chapter will alternate points of view between Draco and Harry. This means that there will be occasional repetition of scenes from the other boy's perspective. Chapter length will vary, some may be fairly short (around 4-5 pages), and others may drag on for 10-15 pages at a time. I end them when it feels natural. I never could keep my chapters to a nice and tidy medium...

In terms of the music… Music speaks to me, inspires me, and helps me focus the storyline. It colors the words with emotional depth that otherwise might have been lost. So, every chapter is inspired by a different song, often including some of the lyrics in the dialogue or scenes. Some scenes may have additional songs that are also influential. I highly encourage you to listen to the songs while you read, as many of them may be ones you've never heard before and both the tone of the music and the lyrics themselves are important for foreshadowing and unsaid thoughts. I do warn you, there is a slightly eclectic variety here, and some songs may be a little explicit.

Finally, as far as sexual content- I'll try to keep within fanfics limitations, but I'll include a Google doc at the end of any chapters that have a continuation that is beyond what fanfic allows. If you don't want explicit, don't read the docs. With that- please read, review and enjoy!

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The song for this chapter is by FGFC820 - Not the World I Remember. The insert song is by Our Last Night- Fate (Acoustic version, please).

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**Chapter 1**

_Not the World We Remember_

(_Draco's POV_)

Overcast summer skies mirrored his stormy, grey mood, though anyone not privy to his thoughts would never have known. His inner monologue huffed dramatically even as his outward appearance remained calm and detached. A delicate, long fingered hand brushed a straying tuft of hair from his sharp featured face. The war had done him no favors, but he managed to keep up with his crisp appearance. Despite his usual look at school, Draco did not spend his entire life in wizarding robes. Today he was wearing an outfit of his usual ensemble: slimming black slacks, that fit his form without strangulating him, and a silvery, light weight button up shirt, with short sleeves to keep him comfortably cool in the warm afternoon air of London. His hair had grown out a little over the summer, giving him a more 'adult' look that complimented his maturing facial features. He'd grown little since the previous year, keeping the lithe figure that some would even call predatory. To an outsider, he looked ever the Malfoy- casually bored and uncaring, but well dressed and well kept none the less.

A Malfoy was never seen in public as anything but graceful, polite, and perhaps a little bored. As his mother had so recently reminded him, a Malfoy didn't sulk, whine, pout, yell, or throw things across his room in a fit of petulant, childish anger. And yet… Draco wanted nothing more than to do all of those (well, perhaps not whine or pout) but yelling, screaming, raging against everything, it would be a welcome release of the roiling emotions that had been trapped inside of him since the end of… The 'end' of the war.

If he had not been walking so publicly down Diagon Alley, he might have given in to his 'childish anger.' This whole thing was ridiculous and completely unnecessary and would just push the family's reputation further down. Internally he paused, as his eyes drifted in a casual manner across some plain window display before him; was that possible? Could your reputation be less than dirt? Yes, they still had the Manor, the money, the Malfoy name… But Father was lost to the red tape and bureaucracy of the Death Eater Trials. No one in the old circles feared them- cowards, they were called- and no one on the 'other side' trusted them, still thinking of them as traitors or murderers. He supposed that it could get worse… He could be on trial with his father, preparing to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life… There were more than a few who thought that he should be…And yet, here he was with a bag full of Galleons buying supplies for _school_ of all things. Apparently the Ministry of Magic did not consider the last year at Hogwarts to count as an actual year of learning and they weren't going to let some little thing like being an ex-Death Eater get in the way of his education.

Draco disagreed with the Ministry's dismissal of last year. To some extent he learned a great deal about many things, none of which were particularly helpful in the current clime, but he learned, ferreting the information away in case it became useful in the future. It wasn't just in class that he learned things. Ever the Slytherin, the political games had become particularly volatile last year. He clawed his way to the top of the pack, biting and cuffing aside any that dared to usurp his position. It wasn't easy. His family was still in a disgrace of sorts within the circle of 'friends' they had cultivated. Never the less, he'd made alliances, cut out enemies, and forged ahead with his family's plan. And for what? Nothing. The war ended. They lost, on both fronts… They had abandoned their side at the end, but had made no evident overtures to the other; not helping, but not hindering as they were ignored and forgotten in the bloody aftermath…

Considering the family reputation, Draco was utterly surprised when he received an owl with the list of this year's supplies, and a note saying that those students that should have graduated last year would be partaking in a special 'eighth year' course set to make up for the loss of both students and teachers last year. Waving it off as unimportant, he was equally as shocked when his mother told him that he would be going to buy his supplies today. What was she thinking?! Going back there? Another year? After all they had been through and had still to go through! Mother insisted that they carry on as if everything was normal… She said that just as the Malfoy name was being seen donating to St. Mungo's, helping rebuild this business, finance that charity, so should the Malfoy Heir be seen going back to school like a good boy. Well, time would tell, wouldn't it?

Coming back to himself for a moment, he stepped away from the dusty shop window he'd been 'browsing' and started towards Madam Malkins. It was no surprise to him the number of stares, glares, and hurried whispers of those around him as he passed. More than once people reached for their wands, and one or two muttered dark threats as they brushed by. This behavior was exactly why he didn't want to be going back. Entering the robe shop only gave him a brief respite, before a surprised squeak to his right turned his attention. For the first time all summer, he made eye contact with someone outside of his house. Apparently, there was a new worker here. Young, a little on the round side, and rather short, the new witch must have been standing in for Malkins. She looked absolutely terrified to find herself in the sole company of Draco Malfoy himself. Without speaking, he shoved his list of robes and sizes into her unprepared hands and set about browsing some of the other clothing items in the store. Normally he would have insisted on his robes being tailored right then and there. Considering the general atmosphere in the shop, however, it seemed more prudent to take the robes home and have one of the house-elves do the tailoring. His eyes drifted over the assortment of accessories. _A new scarf might be nice;_ he mused,_ Merlin knows what happened to my last one_.

As he looked through the selection, there was a moment of silence followed by the scurrying of a nervous body as his order was filled. With how quickly she cobbled the boxes together, it was obvious that the Malfoys weren't preferred customers, but their money at least was still valued here. One could only suppose that business hadn't picked back up yet. There seemed to be a number of people on the streets, but after a war people tended to hoard their gold a little more than usual. He tossed a long, silver scarf onto the pile of boxes, along with a new pair of black gloves, and a dark green, liquid silk tie. The little witch squeaked out a total and he tossed a pile of Galleons onto the counter. Bagging the boxes and accessories, she bustled him out the door like an unwanted stray.

A year ago his pride would have been pricked and he would have made a scene of it, but he just couldn't seem to summon up the emotional range to include his pride at all. It seemed so normal now, for his emotions to swing wide from rage and frustration, to boredom and blackness inside the suddenly silent mind. Silence seemed to swirl outward from him, and he found that the soft buzzing of cautious shoppers was tuned out. Blessed silence on all fronts allowed him to drift from one shop to the next without interruption or hissed words in his direction. Oh, they were there; the silence in his mind simply drowned them out.

The only store that he spent more than the minimal amount of time in was the Apothecary. They seemed to be one of the few shops not bothered by the war and in fact, business was booming. Wizards in dark robes carefully ticked off items from lists, a witch in a Ministry uniform ordered in bulk at the counter, a few families with children in tow gathered supplies for the coming year. No one made even looked at the lone heir of the Malfoy name - they were busy, bustling, and buying what they needed quickly and precisely and simply had no time to dally in conversation or conjecture.

A deep breath brought the familiar and almost comforting smells he had come to know so well: hellbore, armadillo bile, moondust, sharp smelling roots and magical whiffs of flowers for all uses. He reveled in it for a moment, before carefully wending his way through the packed shelves - a bottle of this, a bag of that, a vial here and a chunk there. Potions were his passion, his drive. If his family didn't think it so beneath him, he'd consider opening a potion and apothecary shop of his own, where he could immerse himself in this scent and lose the rest of the world. There was power in potions, it seemed only Professor Snape every really understood the draw of it. And now… Well… He'd have to make due on his own. Slughorn was a good professor, but he didn't have the same heart in it.

By the time Draco had gathered everything on his lists, both for Hogwarts and his own personal stock, time had drifted quickly to early evening. The owner of the Apothecary didn't blink, Draco was a regular customer for years and it being none of the owner's care who purchased from him. Coins passed hands, a few polite words spoken, and the pale blonde was moving back down the streets. Not wanting to carry his purchases around with him all night, he stopped at the Owl Post and sent the packages home. His mother would worry and fret that he didn't return with them, but this was one of the few times he was able to leave the house without her mollycoddling him in silent gestures and raised eyebrows. Even if he had no one to spend it with (in fact, because he had no one to spend it with) he intended to enjoy tonight.

While before last year he could have gone to any number of high end restaurants, be served the best wines and foods, in the quiet comfort of the well to do, the current situation would have made most of those places either very uncomfortable, or flat out hostile to him and his family. Briefly he considered simply buying a bottle of something and wandering off to a quiet end of his family's property, but somehow that didn't hold enough of an appeal. He wanted somewhere quiet, lonely, and completely anonymous. Nothing in Diagon Alley would do. Feeling as if he was breaking some kind of rule, he left the alley and wandered the streets of Muggle London. It seemed taboo for someone like him to be drifting with the crowds of mundane muggles, unnoticed, completely faceless to these lessers.

Taking streets at random, he found himself away from the more populated thoroughfare and into an area that rather reminded him of Knockturn Alley. The cobbled lanes were narrow and cracked with lack of care. The walkways were even more narrow, as dirty and disused as the store fronts. Each store seemed to compete with the next for how inconspicuous it could look and you could just make out that there was a pawn shop, a clothing store, and one that seemed to sell dangerous artifacts of some kind (if the odd blades were any indication). There was only the rare person hurrying in or out of any shop, carefully walking on the opposite side of the street of anyone else.

For a time, it was simply interesting to be here, but he had more important things planned than a simple jaunt among the less fortunate. A few notes from an unknown song drifted to his ears, leading him forward to a windowless building. He simply stood for a moment, the acoustic based song thrumming something in him. The music was clear, the lyrics well harmonized.

(_Are we alone? Are we in control?_

_Can we choose to play a different role?_

_Can we change the grave?_

_That was dug for us?_

_Or is this the only path to take_)

A hand lifted and pushed open the door, and sharp eyes took in the barely lit interior and its dusty handful of occupants. Only the barkeep bothered to look up at him, giving him the barest of nods but no obvious look of recognition. The music was coming from a Muggle radio in the back of the room, and there didn't seem to be anyone in a hurry to do anything but drink.

Yes… This was exactly the kind of place he needed right now.

Not knowing what muggles drank, he simply ordered a shot on ice of whatever was good and wended his way towards the music. A Confundus Charm at the end of the night would take care of his tab, so he simply concentrated on drinking, listening to the music, and being resolutely away from the Wizarding world…

Early afternoon light trickled in through dirt stained windows and splashed across the rumpled figure on the bed. The sheets, that had been so carefully tucked in the night before, were now strewn at the foot of the bed by the boxer wearing sleeper. Tiny dust motes drifted through the air, landing on the softly fluttering chest. As the hour grew later, the light moved up the bed, sneaking through the shuttered eyes it found.

Draco made a grimace and threw his arm over his face, trying to block out the light. The noise from the street below was pounding against his ears, refusing to let him go back to sleep. As his body slowly drifted into the world of the living, his mind drudged through the remnants of the night before. _Merlin, how much did I drink?_

The tinkle of a bell below him brought him bolt upright in bed, eyes squinting around the bright room as he groped under his pillow for his wand. When he couldn't find it, he whirled around in panic and tumbled out of the unfamiliar bed into a heap of rubbery limbs on the dusty, alien floor. It was then that he realized something was really and truly odd, but not necessarily dangerous. He found his wand on the rickety night stand before him, a piece of paper tucked underneath with his name addressed on the front. From the noise below, the chatter on the street, and the now semi-familiar looking room around him- he was in the Leaky Cauldron. How he got there was absolutely beyond him, but at least he was somewhere that the staff wouldn't go blabbing it about that he'd been pissed off his ass when he came in; it wouldn't do to have Mum fretting over his reputation on top of his staying out late.

_Now I just have to work out how the hell I got here…_ He shook his head, waving his wand at the bell-pull over the night stand as he crawled back up onto the bed, perching precariously on the edge. The bar assist gave a precursory knock to the door, before whisking in with a tray full of cups and bowls. He set it down on the table by the window, closed the curtains, and whisked himself out again, all the while silent, efficient, courteous. And, sure enough, when Draco summoned the tray over with a flick of his wand, he recognized two potions as well as the pumpkin juice and porridge. The first was a hangover potion, something any good bar and inn kept in stock. The second was a mild Pepper-up Potion. The name of Malfoy may be dirt, but at least the Leaky Cauldron staff appreciated his business enough to help him keep up appearances. Downing both potions with grim determination, he set into breakfast as they quickly took effect (with only a mild steaming from his ears).

As he finished the last bit of the porridge, there was a second knock on the door, and the same assistant came sweeping into the room. He set down the freshly cleaned clothing that Draco had worn last night, picked up the now empty tray and dishes, and left with a blessedly silent bow. Draco had to admit, even if this place was low-brow compared to his usual stays, they at least knew how to take care of someone of his status, or rather, ex-status. He dressed quickly, feeling more alert than he had in a good number of months.

_Perhaps I should start including the Pepper-ups as a regular regiment…_ He chuckled to himself, tucking his shirt in and waving his wand over his mussed hair. It would do no good to look rumpled on top of wearing last night's clothing.

That finished, he stepped back to the night stand and delicately picked up the paper that had been tucked under his wand, addressed to him simply as "Malfoy." Unfolding it, he was met with slightly familiar handwriting scrawled across a torn piece of parchment:

**"**_**Malfoy,**_

_** I figured you might appreciate waking up somewhere that wouldn't lynch you on sight and would respect your privacy. Next time, try to drink someplace a little closer to home - for a little guy, you're bloody heavy.**_

_** -P.**_

_**Ps. With the rate of exchange being what it is, I'd say you owe me 20 Galleons- bar tab, room tab, minor bribe, and dragging your pissed ass up here. **_**"**


	2. Empire of Dirt

Disclaimer: I don't own anything- the world of Harry Potter, the characters, or any of the songs found in this story.

The song for this chapter is by Johnny Cash - Hurt. The insert song is by Blue October- Hate Me.

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**Chapter 2**

_Empire of Dirt_

(_Harry's POV_)

Eyes follow him no matter where he goes and Diagon Alley was no exception. A wave of whispers, mutterings, some dark and some simply confused, and occasionally- someone will call out his name "Harry Potter!". He ignores them, as he had all summer. At first, after the Battle of Hogwarts, he tried to respond- to talk with them, to comfort them- but they didn't want that. They wanted from him what he could never give: reasons, stories, explanations, apologies. After the war, hands would reach out to touch him in worshipful awe and reverence. The touch turned into a hug, then to a pleading, and even to a demand, yet they were never satisfied, appeased, never wanting to move on. What could he do for them? Was there anything he could possibly offer that would truly help them move on from the loss of so many lives that night? He would only let them down, only make them hurt more by telling them what they thought they wanted to hear…

The clouds overhead obscured the moon, filtering its light into a dull, omnipresent glow. Most of the shops were getting ready to close, so Harry slipped in, gave them his order with instructions to send them to his home, and then slipped out again. The less time he had to spend out here, the better. Night meant that fewer people noticed and recognized him, and those that did would not approach him. He found that between his sense of purpose when going somewhere, and his new look, people tended to almost fear him as much as they revered him. While still naturally messy, Harry had cut his hair, causing the short locks to stand in messy spikes (with the minimal help of a strong gel). Much of the time, his bangs covered his scar, and he'd ditched the glasses in favor of contacts at the beginning of the summer. Tonight he planned on a quiet time, away from the scene and clubs, so his clothing was toned down a bit; a simple black tank top with a large, red " :W: " on the front (the symbol of a muggle band that he'd come to appreciate), loose dusty grey jeans, and a broken in pair of basic black Doc Martins. A far cry from the oversized, well worn clothing he was once seen in, people were never sure how to react to his new look.

He thought that life might become something resembling normal at the end of the last battle. It had seemed so simple; Voldemort was dead, the war was over, his followers either dead themselves, fleeing across the country, or surrendering their wands. It _was_ over, wasn't it? Everyone would pack up, go home, and start acting like nothing happened...

Childish folly… Utter nonsense…

The Daily Prophet had much to say on the matter a week or so after the 'final battle,' but he'd stopped buying them when they started sending him owls about making an interview here, an appearance there. They were desperate for their war hero to speak out and take an active role in the 'clean up,' as they so lightly put it.

The Boy who Lived, the Golden Boy, the Chosen One, had spent much of the beginning of summer alone at Grimmauld Place, only occasionally answering letters from Hermione and one rather short and formal letter from Ron. And Ginny… Well… They parted ways, and he added her name to the list of reasons why the world had become an empire of dirt. He refused offers from old class mates to come visit, though they were so few that most of them simply felt like polite inquiries. Instead, he set out to discover what it meant to be a normal teen. He was of age, living on his own, able to go where he wanted, when he wanted with only the much improved, though aged, Kreacher to keep track of his whereabouts. In his exploration of the city, both wizarding and muggle, he'd found places where he could let go, where he could be simply his emotions, where no one judged him and even the few magical patrons didn't bother him. He'd found a home of sorts.

The last shop he went to was Scribbulus. With the events of last year, he found that his supply of parchment, quills and ink was basically done for. Very carefully avoiding the slightly lackluster display of a certain joke store (which had remained closed all summer), Harry slipped through the crowd and into the supply shop. There was an instant knot in his stomach as his eyes landed on the witch at the counter. For a moment it looked like… But the hair color was in fact more blonde than red, and she was taller, more filled out. Never the less, he sidled around a tower shelf and out of direct line of sight, breathing a sigh of relief when the woman flounced out.

Like many of the stores he had been it, it seemed the Scribbulus was only doing business because of Hogwarts students. The finer quills, fancy colored inks, and self sealing envelopes were in high stock, but the plain rolls, the simple quills bought by the dozen, and the bottles of black ink were nearly depleted. It had surprised him, the number of families he had seen recently coming and going through the Leaky Cauldron. He'd thought that after the battle, parents wouldn't be keen to send their kids off. As practical as that might seem to him, the rest of the world seemed to think just the opposite; the war was over, and children should be taught properly, at a school known more for its good wizards than dark, so that this sort of thing wouldn't happen again.

Carefully avoiding eye contact with the worker and the one other patron, Harry gathered what he thought he'd need. Rolls of parchment, bottles of ink, and a handful of quills. His eyes lingered on a particularly beautiful quill set, meant for fine calligraphy. The description of the set claimed that the green-black feather was an Augurey's tail plumage. The quill and the various fancy tips lay in a dark oak box, resting in a nest of silver velvet. While completely unnecessary, Harry felt a very strong desire to buy the set. The price was of little importance, between his parents small fortune, and the Black inheritance that'd had come to him with the house, he was well set. However, perhaps an Augurey feather quill was taking his new found underground-culture a little too far. Eyeing it longingly one last time, the boy settled instead on a cheaper, but fairly lovely eagle quill, similar to the one that he used to own. They were sturdy and took well to ink of both the magic and normal varieties while still being more than a simple quill, not to mention the fine metal tip that meant he wouldn't have to trim it. Finished splurging, he dropped his purchase on the counter and, ignoring the man's stuttering comments about his identity, paid, packaged and instructed the worker on where to send them.

Decidedly finished with doing anything remotely social in Diagon Alley, Harry returned to the entrance the Cauldron and passed through with a short, curt nod of his head to the bartender. More than once Harry had stayed here for a drink and the unassuming company of the barkeep. Those nights were some of his more normal times, where he could take the whispers and stares in stride and understand the world he lived in for a brief time. Tonight, however, he wanted no socializing; just stiff drinks, quiet patrons, and a radio that played something different than his current genres.

Bob's Bar and Grill was a little dive a couple blocks away in the dingier part of Muggle London, run by an American who seemed to have gotten lost on his way home from vacation. What most didn't know was that "Bob" himself was a Squib. The bar was purposefully positioned close to Diagon Alley, and catered to other Squibs, wizards of little talent, outcasts and the occasional stray from the Muggle world. No one here cared who was in the bar; they all had their own problems and let the others be. It was one of the few places where Harry could be both anonymous and still part of the wizarding community.

As he opened the ramshackle door, the usual radio tracks drifted out into the open more clearly, but so too did the sounds of someone singing along. The song was an older one that Harry knew, but the bar singer… Something in that voice gave the boy a pause.

"_I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head._

_They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed…_"

When he finally walked in, Bob gave him a little wave with the dirty rag he was using to clean the counter. Harry nodded and leaned against the bar top. Without having to ask, his tab was opened and his usual on the rocks was placed in front of him. The first sip pulled a little sigh of relief from him, as his eyes slid closed and his body relaxed. Black spiced rum, while not a normal drink found in most wizard-friendly bars, had quickly become a personal favorite of his over the summer, and Bob's was the only joint in town that carried Kraken, perhaps one of the few good drinks to come out of America.

"_Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone_

_Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home_."

Normally his time in the bar was spent in brooding silence, like any of the other faceless bodies in the building, so Harry was surprised when Bob tapped the bar softly to get his attention and spoke quietly in his odd American-Brit accent.

"One 'o your school mates 'as had enough, I think." He shoved a thumb in the direction of the jukebox and Harry swiveled on the stool to follow the finger. "Be much obliged if you'd take him outta here. Don't need trouble from his."

Harry's eyes widened in shock when he realized just who the bartender was pointing at. There, in the corner seat usually reserved for himself, was another member of the wizarding world, the last one Harry would expect to find in a back alley dive bar. It was apparent that the pale Slytherin was drunk off his ass, the glazed eyes, the slightly swaying body, the slurred words. What had not been immediately apparent to Harry was that it was from this boy, this devil sent to plague him, which the enthralling singing was coming from. He watched, drifting slowly towards that corner table, as thin lips moved and a soft voice sang along to the quiet radio.

"_There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain_

_An ounce of peace is all I want for you. Will you never call again?_

_And will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?_

_And will you never try to reach me?_

_It is I that wanted space"_

Though the radio continued in the background, the singing stopped as Harry finally reached the table. Bleary grey eyes looked up, obliviously, into bright green ones. He felt a familiar swooping in his stomach, his hand twitching towards his wand, but the eyes that stared into his didn't seem to recognize him at all.

_(Hate me today!_

_Hate me tomorrow._

_Hate me for all the things, I didn't do, for you.)_

"C'n I help you?" that memorable drawl was slurred fairly heavily, and a loose hand nearly knocked over the rest of the small glass as it searched blindly. The boy tried to turn to look more fully up at him, but wobbled a little and nearly came off his seat.

Harry reached out tentatively, touching his shoulder to help steady him, "Malfoy?"

Malfoy squinted his eyes, scrunching up his nose a bit, "D' I know you? I think… I think I do.."

(_Hate me in ways-_

_Yeah ways hard to swallow._

_Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you!_)

The hand anchored onto his shoulder, eyes almost sympathetic while still filled with caution, "Draco, I think it's time to go home…"

Malfoy waved him off dismissively, turning his attention back to his glass. "Pft, bu' I haven' finished my drink! I'm payin' for it, I get ta finish it…" Long fingers managed to wrap around it, but when he lifted it he paused, "Huh… it's empty." He shook it to make a point, the ice clinking loudly.

Harry was worried, nervous for the first time in months. Draco Malfoy, drunk. In public. At a dive bar for the dejected. Was it a trap? Some new ploy by the leftover Death Eaters to finally get the infamous Harry Potter? Or was this truly Draco, how he was outside of school; maybe how he was after…Whatever the reason, it wasn't good. Part of him wanted to just leave the lost boy alone, ignore him and tell the keep that he wouldn't help. But a voice in his head whispered, _He lowered his wand… He's not a killer…_ and very quietly, like an echo, _…not like you._ Shuddering, he pushed the boys hands off of the glass and set it down rather forcefully on the table, "Come on Malfoy, it's time to get you home."

(_In a sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night_

_While I was busy waging wars on myself,_

_you were trying to stop the fight._)

There was only a meager struggle put up against him as he hoisted the drunken heir to his unstable feet. Harry managed to get Draco's arm over his shoulder so that Harry could slide his across the boys back and help him stay on his feet. The drunk mumbled incoherently, before looking up at Harry again, his brow furrowing, "I'm sure I know you… S'pose I must..."

(_So I'll drive so fucking far away that I never cross your mind_

_And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind_)

The grey eyes relaxed a little, and a single finger slid the dark bangs away from green eyes, "You 'ave pretty eyes…"

Now Harry was really worried. Draco must be seriously piss drunk to compliment him in any way, shape or form! Through the little blush, he started moving them towards the door. "Sod off, Malfoy… Let's just get you home, alright?" Harry growled, his eyes darting between the boy next to him and the door ahead of them.

(_Hate me today_

_Hate me tomorrow_

_Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you_)

It took a lot of shuffling, encouragement, and muttered swearing to finally get Draco outside. Once there, Draco undraped his arm from Harry's shoulders and tottered over to the nearby light post. Using it as support, he slid down to the curb, head hanging low. His voice drifted out again, soft notes whispering along to the just barely audible music from the bar.

"_And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave_

_Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made_

_And like a baby boy I never was a man_

_Until I saw your green eyes cry and I held your face in my hand…"_

Harry shifted from one foot to the other with one hand shoved in his wand pocket, looking up and down the street as if he expected Lucius to come swooping down on him and accuse him for the state that his son was in. While he no longer really expected a trap, that didn't prevent something from happening anyways. No one was about, however, magical or otherwise. What was he supposed to do? Malfoy, who had been his enemy since the first day, was drunk and clearly unable to get himself home. He half wished Hermione was around, she'd know some spell or such to help with drunkenness, whisk a potion out of her bag that would work just so.

Draco's voice drifted off and Harry was worried that perhaps he'd passed out. When he glanced down, though, those eyes were staring at him, studying him. Hand fingering his wand in his pocket, Harry cleared his throat a little self-consciously, "Mal-…Draco, do you- can you get home like-" his hand flitted vaguely towards the boy, "like this?"

The eyes turned away to look down at himself, as if he was unaware what was wrong with him, " S'pose… But I don't wanna… not home." He looked back up, almost pleadingly.

_Godric, he looks helpless like this_, Harry thought, caught for a moment in the stare.

Once Harry realized that there was no effort being made to get up, he sighed and crouched down beside him, "You don't have to go home." Merlin knew that Harry himself was out for just that reason, "But you can't stay here." He helped the boy to his feet again, pausing to let him get his bearings, before heading off, back towards the Leaky Cauldron. He'd crashed in a room there more than once, and the bartender had learned to let him be and not ask questions. Harry fervently prayed that this was going to be included in the "no question asked" policy. He'd buy Draco a room, insist that the bartender not say who bought it and pray that no one would ever know the wiser.

(_Hate me today_

_Hate me tomorrow_

_Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you_

_Hate me in ways_

_Yeah ways hard to swallow_

_Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you_

_For you_

_For you_

_For you_)

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A/N: I'm sure I'll get a fair amount of flak for how I portray Harry throughout the story. I'd like everyone who plans on yelling at me to take a deep breath, and realize that I'll explain more about him later. Being from the 'goth/industrial' scene myself, I know where I'm going with this and why I'm starting him on that path. Please, give me a chance and trust in the story to tell you things and elaborate on things when the time is right.

As for the little bar scene… Hehe, it may seem a bit out of character for them now, but I'm sure you'll figure things out soon enough. I hope you all enjoyed a bit of fan girling over it (I particularly like the idea of Harry grumbling while tucking Draco into bed. . )

Hope you enjoyed the first two chapters! I will generally post two chapters at a time, so you'll have plenty to read. ^_^


	3. If I Ever Change

Disclaimer: I don't own anything- the world of Harry Potter, the characters, or any of the songs found in this story.

The song for this chapter is by Greenwheel – Shelter; if you look for it on YouTube, you have to type in "Spiderman OST Shelter"…What? I like cheesy movies.

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**Chapter 3**

_If I Ever Change_

Wednesday, September 1st found Draco Malfoy waiting impatiently beside his mother on Platform 9 ¾. The steam from the train hung low to the ground, making it difficult to discern the shadowy forms of the parents and students further down the track. Draco turned his head towards his mother, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, the only outward sign of displeasure from the otherwise well-controlled heir. Narcissa merely raised an eyebrow at him, her mild look of annoyance enough to quell the words held just behind her son's teeth. They had argued and fought ever since the letter had come from Hogwarts, and Narcissa never wavered from her decision for a moment. Everything that could have been tried on Draco's part had been. Sensible discussion, loud arguments, prolonged silences, blatant threats, and finally, pathetically, beseeching requests, _begging, pleading_ to simply leave that dreaded school and future.

Even so, his mother made it very clear that if the Heir of the Malfoy family did not do as he was told, ran away from the 'difficulties' of school, then they would simply find a new heir. Disobedience was not an option; even the mere thought of it was punishable. His mothers stinging words still rang in his head-_"If you are so concerned with your own selfish ambitions then you can find your way in the world on your own. Let it never be said again that the Malfoys ran away."_ That had put an end to the argument, though not to the poisonous thoughts almost constantly running through Draco's seething mind today.

When the whistle blew, Narcissa leaned down and gave Draco a very small hug and a very proper kiss on the cheek. For a moment, her eyes showed sympathy for her son, even as his showed the anger he'd felt all summer. Giving his shoulder a supportive squeeze, she spoke to him in no more than a whisper, "Your father would be proud, Draco, to know that you returned to school with your head high, showing the pride of the Malfoy line." There was simply nothing he could say to that, so he gave her a brush of a kiss on the cheek in return, gathered his trunk, and boarded the Hogwarts Express.

As he moved down the train, glancing into the different compartments, he noticed a very pronounced lack of familiar Slytherins, but a large number of students that he simply didn't know- not just first years, either. The Daily Prophet had commented that many of the children that had been home schooled or sent out of the country to other schools had been signed up for Hogwarts this year. Some of those that had been homeschooled were sent for the added protection of the castle grounds, others sent as a show of support for the still rebuilding school. Those that had sent their children out of country were suspected of wanting them to be closer to home. There had been some discussion by the board about what to do with these students, and it was decided to let them enter the school, be Sorted with the first years, and then allowed to follow the year that was appropriate to their age and abilities.

On his way to the last handful of compartments he glanced into one that held none other than the Golden Trio, Loony Lovegood, and the Longbottom boy. While the rest of the students didn't notice him, the sharp gaze of a pair of green eyes held his for a moment. A flash of something completely new and unreadable showed in them, counter to the impassive looking face. It took a moment for Draco to recognize Harry Potter, so drastic was the change. If he hadn't seen the company he was keeping and the scar peeking out from spiky bangs, he would have thought the boy boring holes into him was a new student. Completely thrown off, he hurried past, feeling the intense gaze follow him down the hall like a target on his back.

Finally he came to one compartment that had familiar, if not entirely friendly faces. Blaise, Pansy and Goyle all glanced up as he opened the door. There was a moment of confusion on Draco's part when he didn't see Crabbe, but the memory of what happened returned, causing a small drop in his stomach. Not allowing them to see his hesitation, he gave them the trademark smirk and shoved his trunk into the overhead bin.

"Well, I am pleased to see that I won't have to drudge through this ridiculous year alone." His words came in the casual drawl they always did, but seemed to fall a little flat.

Goyle was very pointedly not looking at him, a semi-vacant glaze on his eyes. Blaise and Pansy exchanged an unreadable glance, before either of them made any indication that they'd heard him. Finally, after a few awkward seconds where Draco simply stood there, Pansy moved over on her seat to give him room. An inward sigh preceded a nervous mental laugh before he sat down with as much grace as he could. And so the games began.

_Pawn to King Four_, Draco mused to himself.

Even his worst estimations about returning to school could not compare to the reality of it. He had so wrongly assumed that it was the rest of the school that he would have to watch out for. However, it was the Slytherins that would truly make his life a living hell. Yes, his mother had thought that Draco would have to claw his way back to the top, but that was a political game. Compliment, insult, sneer, ignore, perhaps a well placed curse or switch of potions…Those were all techniques he was well versed in. This blatant hostility, however, was something else entirely. Much of the train ride was spent in the same awkward silence as it started in. Blaise and Pansy spoke to each other from time to time; Draco tossed out a comment here or there, which was more often than not, ignored; Goyle stayed staring at nothing, though occasionally Draco caught his old minion glancing at him with a pained and confused look passing over his face. A few times during the ride, other Slytherins had popped their heads in to give greetings to Blaise and Pansy, and sneers or muttered insults to Draco, who tried to either ignore them or cut them down verbally himself. It was a long, unpleasant ride.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, Pansy and Blaise found a carriage with a couple of old Ravenclaws, leaving Goyle and Draco to share one, though surprisingly no one else tried to join them. Draco passed it off as the shock of the carriage ride this year- nearly all the students who fought in the Final Battle were gasping and pointing at the strange, reptilian horses that were harnessed at the front. If there wasn't a wild herd of them that lived in the woods outside of Malfoy Manor, Draco himself might have been in awe. After a summer of seeing them and the lesson about them in fifth year, they were old news. They still made him a little nervous, and he carefully avoided looking at them for too long, but he didn't have the hysterics that some people did. After a few hurried explanations, some shouted threats by the Prefects and Heads, and one dosing of chocolate to a particularly distraught Parvati Patil, the carriages finally went off. It took a moment for Draco to realize that there was no one calling First Years to the boats. In fact, there were about a dozen more carriages than usual. He wondered if this was to prevent confusion for the new, older, students. _Sorting will be interesting this year…_

As the castle came into view, Draco found himself craning his neck, like many of the older students, to get a glimpse of the damage left from the battle. While it seemed that the main structure had been fixed over the summer, there were still scorch marks and curse marks scattered across some of the windows and outer doors. The newer stone sections of the castle were obvious, as their brighter colors and sharper edges stood out from the ancient stone used to initially build the castle. It seemed that there were still some crews of Architect Wizards around the grounds- waving wands in quick, sharp strokes, sorting decorative stones and affixing them to corners, pouring potions and spells into the construction. There were also a group of wizards moving through the grounds, planting new trees and bushes, shaping the lawn around little alcoves of benches and outdoor tables, encouraging vines to grow up the newer portions of castle to help blend it in. Overall, it looked as if Hogwarts was using this opportunity to not only fix the damages caused, but to update the grounds. Even, it seemed, to add an extra wing to the side nearest the Forbidden Forest.

There was no little amount of disorientation for all of those students returning to Hogwarts. The last they'd seen of their precious school, there were bodies to be buried, stains to be cleaned, massive repairs to be made, and people in various stages of shock milling around the grounds. Now, they were presented with a school that had a bright new finish, a more sophisticated, and yet homey look to its exterior, and a very new outlook for the future. Draco gave a snort of disgust, hoping that they hadn't changed the dungeons, or his own private nooks and crannies, with their quiet solitude and limited access points.

As the student body filed into the grand entryway, Professor McGonagall- _Headmistress McGonagall now, I suppose-_ lifted a hand for silence. "Do to the unusual nature of the start of term this year, we had to forgo the use of the boats for First Years. At this time, I would like all First Years and new students to remain here with me, while the rest of the students file into the Great Hall."

There was some soft mutterings and a little bit of confused shuffling as the students sorted themselves out and those who had already been through the Sorting moved into the Hall and found their seats at the House Tables. Draco was at least pleased that the Houses still seemed to be intact. After the end of the final battle, while the last few days of the school year glided by, the Houses were no longer of any importance to anyone. Students drifted between tables and groups, no longer caring if their houses were rivals or not. Having the Houses back made him feel a little more at ease. Perhaps things hadn't changed as much as they had appeared over the summer? For now, he found a seat near the front of the Slytherin table and waited for the rest of the Houses to seat themselves. It took him a moment, but he slowly began to realize that of the few upper class Slytherins left, only Pansy and Blaise seemed inclined to be near his presence. Goyle couldn't be spotted from this angle, and the rest of the house seemed to be either blatantly ignoring Draco, or finding some way to communicate their intended threats to him with glares or malicious grins.

Before he had a chance to do anything about it (in fact, before he'd even decided _if _he was going to do anything about it), a ripple of silence descended the Great Hall as everyone started turning to gape at the entrance. Draco followed suit, his eyes going as wide as they did on the train. Behind the last group of kids came none other than the Golden Trio. Ron seemed to have leveled out in his growth, the tallest of the group by a couple inches. He'd filled out in form a little, but otherwise seemed to be the same, lanky Weasley he'd always been. Hermione looked much as she did the last time Draco had seen her clearly… Minus the terrified expression as Bella tortured her, that is. Harry though… Harry was very obviously the reason for the stunned silence. He lagged a little behind the other two, face blank of any emotion and eyes staring glassily ahead. While he had changed into his school robes, the difference in character was obvious; his posture was a little aggressive, taking steps that were perhaps a little heavier than they should have been, and ignoring the small handful of people that called out to him or waved. Even from the Slytherin table, Draco could see Harry's spiky hair, the longish bangs, the black undershirt, and the slightly paler complexion- as if he hadn't been out in daylight for a couple months. Then the gap in the students closed as a people shifted to get a better look, and Draco lost sight of him.

The volume in the Great Hall rose a few moments later, when, Draco assumed, Harry and his friends took their seats. Throughout the room the conversation seemed to center around what everyone had just seen, people jumping to all kinds of conclusions. The Slytherins seemed to think it was just another attention ploy, the Chosen Boy just trying to switch things up so he'd stay in the spotlight. Draco continued to stare towards the Gryffindor table, despite not being able to see anymore, a slight scowl adorning his face. Give it to Potter to always have the spotlight…

Further musings by the students were cut off by the entrance of McGonagall and the new students. It was odd, seeing the handful of older students mixed in with the tiny first years. The Headmistress ushered them up to the stool that the tattered Sorting Hat sat on, before leaving them in the care of one of the new professors- an elderly witch in simple black dress robes. _I wonder what she's teaching… there are so many open positions after all the deaths, sackings and retirements…_

Once McGonagall had taken the center chair at the staff table, she motioned for silence from the Hall (not that anyone was really talking), before speaking clearly, "As we have a combination of new students and first years, we will be Sorting the older students first, and then the first years. I ask that you give every student the same encouragement and applause that we have in the past. Let the Sorting, begin."

After the usual self-introduction from the Hat, one by one the students were called forward to sit down, don the hat, and move to the table of their new House. Draco let his mind drift a little, listening with half an ear to the event, the other to Pansy and a seventh year girl discuss the new teachers and subjects being offered this year and what that would do to NEWTS at the end of the term. He clapped whenever someone was sent to his house, though it seemed there were fewer this year than any other- even with the added older students.

Difficult as it was, he ignored the harsh whispers and malicious giggles that were directed at him, coming from some of those he once considered colleagues or almost equals. As the last of the first years were sorted out (_"Ravenclaw!"_), the volume in the Great Hall increased and Draco turned his full attention back to the head table. Raising her hand for silence, the new Headmistress addressed the students in a brief 'welcome back' speech, before, in the tradition of the Headmaster before her, telling them to tuck in.

More than once Draco tried to include himself in the political game that Slytherins learned to perfect in their earliest school years. The struggle for supremacy, alliances made and challengers thwarted, deals and negotiations; all of these moves and more were second nature to most of those in the House of Salazar. Lucius had been adept at this sort of thing, and Draco had followed him well in the past seven years. But with the fall of their family from their old circle, and the continued distrust from the other side, Draco found that his snide comments, his gracious compliments, his causal remarks were either dismissed with a scathing retort, or ignored entirely. It was a cold dip into reality for him.

He stabbed angrily at a piece of treacle on the plate before him, having barely touched dinner at all. _Bloody load of good this is, Mother. The rest of the year, wasted. Spent tagging along with whatever scraps they're willing to toss my way. _A particularly hardy jab sent his fork rocketing away as it slipped from his fingers. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was being laughed at by his own house, at his own expense, in the full view of the whole school. His ears burned and he sent a sharp glare down the table, briefly quelling some of those taunting him. Pansy gave him a pained look, opening her mouth to speak- though on his behalf or to berate him for his clumsiness, he never did find out. Conversation died out again as attention was directed to the head table as the Start of Term speech was given.

The inside of the castle was both familiar, and much changed. Draco's eyes wandered with only mild interest as his feet shuffled along the empty corridors. Many portraits were missing, and in their place were either new portraits, or huge murals and tapestries. Most of the suits of armor were gone, as were many of the older statues and gargoyles. Live plants were potted next to new window seats and tamed vines even grew on some of the pillars and decorative columns inside. Even the floors, once so marked and worn from generations of young wizards, had been cleaned, repaired, replaced and then covered in long, ornate runners and simple, beautiful carpets. To the lone Slytherin, it seemed as if the castle had been given a mask to wear. No longer were there dark corridors and dank dungeons. Mystery and the hint of old danger were gone from the castle. Cobwebs and dust bunnies had been scared out. The cleaning that had once been done exclusively by Filch and the House Elves was now done by a small staff of witches and wizards. The castle looked more sophisticated, more mature. It reminded him greatly of his own Manor, with the clean lines and soft edges. While part of him was pleased to see the once grungy castle improving, the other part missed his old school… A finger reached out and stroked the place where a particularly grouchy dragon statue was once perched on the wall. He murmured greetings to ancient portraits that were now outshined by nearby 'art-nouveau' or hidden with miniature trees. It was all so new, so different, so much the same.

The young man paused at the chiming of a nearby clock. It wasn't close to curfew yet, but he should be wandering back towards the dungeons soon. He'd gone to the Slytherin house only long enough to make sure his things were settled, take a silent inventory of the new students milling about the common room, and then he left in hopes of getting away from the stares and whispers. When he looked around himself, however, he had a moment's disorientation- nothing looked particularly familiar. _I must be in one of the heavily renovated wings… I think I'm on the third floor…_ Sure enough, there was the portrait of the three bards, arguing over the proper lyrics for the Ballad of Dellidus Dendmond. This whole section must have been blasted to pieces, but at least there were a few familiarities left.

Taking a brisk pace, he set out for the closest staircase (ignoring the one pretending it was going down) that would bring him closer to the familiar dungeons. He hadn't realized that he had wandered so far from his house, but the quiet corridors had lent a sense of anonymity to his wanderings. The peace he'd felt early was quickly evaporating, however, as he realized how vulnerable he was out here. _A stupid mistake. Ridiculous. There's no protection away from everyone…_ He cursed himself for his carelessness- words were nothing compared to what some people would do to him should they find him unaccompanied.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he rounded a corner and stumbled into a group of students who had been lingering at the main route to the dungeons. It took Draco only a moment to realize they hadn't been loitering, but were waiting specifically for his return. Some of them had hoods on, masking their faces, but a few stood, bold as brass, with their identities clear to him. His hand slid into his pocket and clenched around the wand there, the only outward sign that he found anything wrong with this situation.

Sneering at the little group as if he had nothing to fear from he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a familiar, grunting voice, "You always were too dumb to know when you'd taken one risk too many, weren't you, _mate_?" the last word spat out in contempt as the little crowd parted to show Goyle's cynical face. A jolt of fear shot through Draco, Goyle was one of the few that he had marked off his list of threats- he had thought that their years of partnership would work to his advantage, a theory that seemed reinforced by Goyle's lack of response to anything early in the day. Draco hadn't expected to rekindle their relationship, but he'd viewed his old toady as a non-threat. Of all the Slytherins, Goyle was the biggest threat to Draco- he knew too much, had seen him at his best and worst, knew his weaknesses and strengths… And perhaps, as Draco thought on it, was the only one who had a right to be thoroughly pissed at him…

Keeping the Malfoy mask in place, Draco smiled as if there was nothing wrong at all and waved a hand towards the staircase behind them, "I wasn't aware that going back to my dorm before curfew was risky. Thank you, Goyle, for informing me of the danger." Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and he made to push through the group to get to the stairs.

He hadn't fully realized the danger, nor sensed the violent intent from the group, until he found himself sprawled out on the floor, his wand skittering across the stone. _Non-verbal spells…Damnit! Why didn't I raise a shield?_ Laughter and suggestions echoed down the hall as the group closed in on their disabled prey. Draco scrambled to his feet and stumbled back against the wall behind him. Let it never be said that he took a beating lying down again. There were a few scattered laughs at his attempt to keep face, but most were simply looking murderous. Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly, pulling his wand from his sleeve holster, "Yer gonna get it, for what you did. A fuckin' turncoat like you- how many of our parents and mates did you throw to the Ministry, eh? Well…" His grin was shark-like, full of teeth and malicious intent, "Them ministry blokes ain't here to save you, are they?" A flash of red shot from his wand, the violent spell punching into Draco's cheek like a heavy fist causing him to double up in pain. The group laughed, watching him spit blood from his mouth as Goyle continued, "You'll get yours now, you fucking slimy ferret…" The whole group growled like a many headed beast going in for the kill as Goyle raised his wand towards Draco again.

A bright, shimmering shield flashed into being, the force of its cast enough to push Draco against the wall and send those closest to him reeling backwards into the assailants behind them. "Now wait up," a bored voice spoke from the shadows to the right, "I'm the only one allowed to call Malfoy a ferret. After all, that was his punishment for trying to curse me, right?"

Draco wasn't sure if he should be cursing his luck, or singing fates praise right now. All he knew was that the distraction put a stop to what they had planned for him. His eyes searched for his wand, only to realize that it was in the hands of his savior, separated by a shield charm and the grumbling mob. Their eyes met, silver to green, and once again Draco saw that same unknown emotion flash through Potter's face. Seeing him on the train or in the Great Hall was one thing, but this new Potter wandering the dark corridors… The change was so drastic from when Draco had last seen him. He wasn't the only one to notice, the group had fallen silent when he appeared from the shadows, shocked by the dark, almost gothic appearance of the Golden Boy.

There was a twitch from Goyle, but Potter was too fast for him and the trolls wand went flying down the stairs before it could cast so much as a Stunning spell. The rest of the group fingered their wands nervously, none quite willing to point them at The Chosen One just yet- even with the odds in their favor. Goyle snarled obscenities under his breath, before tugging his robes and scoffing, "And what-"

"Stop there, Goyle." Potter snarled, his eyes narrowing dangerously and his wand staying level at the antagonist's chest. "You don't want to say anything to piss me off right now…" His voice was a harsh whisper, and Draco had to strain to hear it. A few people in the crowd muttered darkly, but most simply shifted uncomfortably. The tense seconds ticked by while everyone tried to not be the first one to make a move. Potter and Goyle never moved their eyes away from each other, the latter of the two twitching his hand as if trying to cast a wandless curse.

Finally, someone murmured an excuse of needing to use the loo, and slowly the group trickled away until only Goyle, Potter and Draco remained. The silence stretched out and out, until Draco was sure he could hear the mice in the walls scurrying about their business. Finally Goyle huffed dramatically, sending a sneer to his once cornered prey, "Yer lucky this time, Malfoy. Next time, your guard dog won' be here to rescue you." He ignored Potter completely, stomping off towards the dungeons.

Potter watched him go without expression, though his wand remained pointing down the stairs long after they emptied. Draco watched his rescuer with a mixture of astonishment and utter confusion. Finally, Potter's eyes slid back to him. With a wave of his wand, the shield charm dissipated and he tossed Draco his own wand back. "You really ought to have learned- sneaking down corridors is dangerous at night."

Draco's mouth gaped like a fish, working silently at him. _A year ago, I would have used my wand against him, no matter what had just happened…_Again, he caught that inscrutable look in those green eyes. He gulped and tried to get his brain to come up with something to say, _a year ago, he wouldn't have given my wand back. _

He barely heard Potter bid him a soft, polite good night and walked off back the way he'd come. For a few minutes, Draco could only stare after him, his wand clutched tightly in his fist, _What…. What the bloody hell just happened?_


	4. Something Wrong with Me

Disclaimer: I don't own anything- the world of Harry Potter, the characters, or any of the songs found in this story.

The song for this chapter is by And One- Sometimes. (I also recommend listening to their song, Military Fashion Show, though it has nothing to do with this fic.)

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**Chapter 4**

_Something Wrong with Me_

Hogwarts Express had once been a gateway to happiness for Harry. Previous years had been a roiling excitement from the time he stepped onto the platform up to crawling into his familiar bed at night. The train had been jokes, laughter, and watching Ron stuff his face with Cauldrons and Chocolate Frogs. Once upon a time…

While it may not have been obvious to anyone else, the compartment was lost in awkward silences. Yes, Luna and Neville were chatting amiably, Hermione was leaning against Ron in the seat across from Harry, and they were throwing their two cents in from time to time, but it was all filler- white noise. Harry barely spoke a word to any of them, and they all seemed almost content that it should stay that way. Luna was really the only one to even make eye contact with him and give him a real smile. Hermione hugged him, and Ron patted his back uneasily, Neville smiled and told him he was glad that Harry had come back. But that was it. Nothing else. He couldn't really blame them for their actions. He'd avoided them over the summer, and where they once would have forced their company on him at some point- they simply let him be. Everything changed, and Harry couldn't do anything about it.

The train gave a final whistle and started the long trek off to Hogwarts. Luna was chattering on about the trip she went on this summer, and Harry quickly lost interest, letting his mind and eyes wander. A sharp jolt of familiarity shook him awake as a head of memorable blonde hair bobbed into view. The Slytherin was wending his way slowly from compartment to compartment, cautiously peeking into each before carefully backing away and moving on to the next.

_He must be looking for the others…Not many left this year._ Harry mused, his eyes locked onto the boy. _Was that why I found him at the bar? I guess I'm not the only one without a proper place anymore…_

The head he was watching turned and silver eyes met green. Last year, Harry would have glared, Malfoy would have sneered, and only the presence of his friends would have prevented things from getting out of hand. This year, this year they did nothing.

_He looks good with longer hair, _the Gryffindor thought, their eyes holding for a moment. Malfoy's widened a little before he took a step back and hurried off down the train. Harry cocked his head a moment, still following the retreating figure with his eyes. Was Malfoy just reacting to Harry for the same reasons he always had? Or was it because of the bar? He could have sworn that the boy had been too drunk to remember anything the next day, but there were some people who never blacked out… Merlin- what if Draco remembered? Life could become a hell of a lot more complicated-

"What are you staring at?" Luna's whimsical voice interrupted the beginnings of a panic attack. Harry tried not to startle, taking a breath and turning back to address her, only then noticing that the whole compartment was silent and paying attention. Hermione was watching Harry closely, a crease between her eyebrows indicating concern and irritation. Neville was looking a little passive and confused, as if he wasn't sure what Luna was talking about. It was Ron's face, though, that really dragged in his attention.

Ron was a vivid red, his eyes narrowed dangerously and focused at the window where the Slytherin's face had just been. When he spoke, his voice was an angry, deep growl, "Blimey… Imagine seeing that bloody traitor here. He's not exactly chummy with his old pals, is he?" The redhead turned to the others, his eyes dancing over each of them in turn, "Wonder who'll kill him first- Our kind, or the Slytherins."

Harry expected Hermione to smack his arm and admonish him for that kind of talk, but to his surprise she only nodded her head slowly, finally looking away from Harry and over to the others, "It is really surprising to that Malfoy would come back, considering."

Neville's eyes widened and he leaned forward importantly, "You don't think he has some task to do, do you? For the sympathizers?"

Hermione shook her head, "I doubt that. They made threats at the group hearing for the capture Death Eaters this summer. I think it's pretty obvious that if he's up to anything, he's doing it as a Malfoy, not a sympathizer." She sighed and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, "Still, it is pretty suspicious that he's here at all."

Luna piped up, that little half-smile on her face, "Oh I don't know, I think it makes a lot of sense for him to be back." She looked around at them as if it was an obvious conclusion, "I mean, he can't go back to where he was but he would have a hard time moving forward with current attitudes. His family will have to make amends with everyone if they want to keep their family name and fortunes, not to mention their lives." As if that settled it, Luna looked out the window and hummed a little to herself.

Everyone else looked at her in shock and revulsion, as if they couldn't believe that she wasn't demonizing Malfoy with them. Harry's jaw dropped, not in disgust, but in surprise that someone else could see the situation in the same light he saw it earlier this summer. As the others changed the subject back to more innocuous things, Harry caught her eye and gave her a little smile. Luna smiled back at him, and they both settled back into a companionable silence as the others started arguing again.

_I always thought she was smarter than she had a right to be…_

The rush to get to the carriages was the same as usual- the new students milling about in confusion, the older ones jockeying for an empty one so they could all squish in together. The difference came when people realized that the carriages were actually attached to something. Living somethings. Those that could see the thestrals, particularly those students who had been in the Final Battle, were showing a wide array of reactions, from simply staring with open mouths, to screaming and flailing about. It gave Harry a deep satisfaction to see Hermione go deathly white and Ron stagger heavily when they caught sight. Yes, they knew about the thestrals, they'd learned about them in fifth year. But it was a very different thing to see one, living and breathing right in front of you, where before you could simply ignore them.

Harry meandered towards one of the carriages, recognizing the large male that was harnessed to the front. He smiled, reaching out a hand so it could reacquaint itself with him, "Hello Tenebrus." The horse-like creature snuffled at his palm a moment, before giving him a soft whistle in greeting and nudging his hand until he obligingly scratched at its nose. _How could I ever have been afraid of them?_ he mused, scratching along its jaw and up to its bony cheek. Any creature that could be so loyal, so intelligent as to fight back when its home and family were in danger… To save Hogwarts. To save their friends and owners… Any creature like that deserved a second chance, no matter what sort of stigma was associated with them.

When it was apparent that most of the carriages were full he looked around and found Luna beckoning him towards one of those at the front. Hermione and Ron were already inside, and Harry sat down beside the Ravenclaw just as the carriages lurched forward and a steady trot. The ride was fairly silent; Hermione apparently brought a book out of her luggage before they departed the train and was already buried in it, Ron was staring out the carriage window with a slight scowl on his face, and Luna was looking up at the ceiling, humming tunelessly to herself again. Harry almost wondered if he'd be able to go the rest of the day without speaking or being harassed to talk about the Final Battler, his summer, or his (obvious) future as the Head of the Auror Office. He'd hoped that his new look would throw most of the students off, and it had for the older ones, but the younger students never did seem to get the hint, did they?

That thought made the corner of his mouth tug up in a suppressed smile for a moment as he thought of Colin and how persistent he'd been with his camera. It had been flattering, but also incredibly annoying. The smile faded quickly though, as the image of Colin's body drifted through his head. Perhaps… he could have willingly let Colin take a picture or two. Maybe, if he'd been more attentive to the boy, encouraged his participation in the DA, he wouldn't have died that night.

When he looked out the window, Harry didn't even notice the improvements made to the grounds of Hogwarts. Superimposed over the bright grass and the new hedges was rubble and smoke and unknown bodies of friend and foe. He could hear the cries of pain again, of anger, of battle; he could see the distant flashes of light as smaller fights raged back and forth across the lawn. It wasn't until the carriages jolted to a halt that he pulled himself back to the present and stumbled out of the carriage with the rest. Only then did he start to notice some of the more obvious changes occurring around the castle, such as the new doors to the entry. _What had happened to the old ones? I can't remember…_

The silent Gryffindor shuffled along with the rest of the students, noting in passing that he, Ron and Hermione were given a small bubble of space around their persons. Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for them and silence fell quickly when she raised her hand. "Do to the unusual nature of the start of term this year-" Harry's interest waned quickly and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the ghost sounds echoing in his head. What did he care of classes and NEWTs and parties? Coming back was way for him to try and confront the nightmares that had been haunting him all summer. Yes, he couldn't be so short sighted as to think he'd be able to get by easily in life without completing his education, but that was only another bone on the plate- it was there, but it had no meat worth chewing on right now.

Finally the crowd was moving forward, though the trio lagged behind a little, unwilling to be shoved about as everyone crowded into the Great Hall. Hermione glanced at back at him as they passed through the doors, giving him what she must have thought was a supportive smile. The light glare that Ron followed it with, however, completely negated any positive effects she might have been hoping to convey, not to mention that as soon as they walked in, a hush rippled through the Hall and Harry felt all eyes on him. Of course. There couldn't be a year that went by that this didn't happen every bloody time he walked into the Hall. You'd think, after being around here for eight years, everyone would have gotten used to seeing him about.

It wasn't until he was seated that people started to talk again, but he could hear that much of the conversation was about him- and his new attire. The whispers traveled in the high ceilinged room, and the theories ran a wild gambit. Oh it made him laugh! Let them wonder and guess and be completely fucking clueless! What could they know about him? What did they ever know…

The rest of dinner passed in a haze for Harry. He didn't watch the Sorting, he didn't participate in the flow of conversation around him, and he managed to only respond with nods and shrugs anytime someone managed to grab his attention. The start of term speech was fairly uneventful, other than letting the students know that there was a memorial erected near the lake, in honor of those brave souls, human and other alike, who died in the Final Battle. Harry was at least grateful that the Headmistress didn't make mention of him at all (unlike an annoying habit that a certain someone had…)

Once they were dismissed, he barely noticed that the Gryffindor line was full of new students other than first years. When a few new, older faces peered curiously at him or gaped openly as he passed, he nearly bit their heads off. It wasn't until Hermione tugged on his sleeve and pulled him along that he remembered what she'd said in one of her letters this summer- something about homeschooled students or away-students coming back to Hogwarts for the safety and the strong emphasis on defensive spells and Muggle Studies that would be included in the mandatory curriculum now. Judging by the number of new students in his House alone, it seemed as if every parent in Europe was sending their children to Hogwarts, as if they had to prove that they weren't aligned with the sympathizers.

If he thought the Great Hall was bad, it didn't compare to the entrance he made through the portrait hole. The Common Room was packed full of old students trying to catch up on the summer, new students trying to get information about the school, and both groups mingling and meeting each other. As soon as he stepped through, following close to Ron's heels, a deafening silence fell. Those students that hadn't seen him on the train or in the Hall were obviously shocked by his new look- the short, spiky hair, the pale skin, the complete lack of his old smile. The rest seemed unsure on how to approach him. A few gave him tentative waves or smiles, Dean gave his shoulder a thump or two with a murmur of greeting; the rest of them only stared, or fidgeted nervously.

While Ron and Hermione settled onto the couch, Harry stood awkwardly next to the fireplace for a moment, waiting for the low hum of renewed conversation to pick up to what it normally would have. When ten minutes passed and people were still eyeing him with caution and whispering their pointless babble, he gave it all up as a bad job and stormed out of the room, slamming the Fat Lady shut behind him and ignoring her loud protest.

The halls were mostly empty, only a few people here or there walking down the halls. There was a pair of Hufflepuffs, obviously reacquainting themselves with their relationship. A handful of those other wanderers were from the Final Battle. They passed Harry with a simple nod, but nothing more. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that tonight was a time for all of them to get the ghosts out of the way from that night. True, Harry wasn't walking the halls for quite the same reasons, but he was content with their silence and understanding, even if it was temporary.

There wasn't an inch of this castle that he hadn't learned intimately over the years. Every secret passage, every trick staircase, every shortcut- he knew them all, with no small thanks to a pair of people no longer at Hogwarts… One of them, no longer part of this world at all. His feet took him along to many of his old haunts, places that now had such mixed memories. The empty corridor that held the Room of Requirement, the Astronomy tower, the One-Eyed Witch… The memories didn't flood him this time, though, as they did in the carriage. Instead, they were a soft murmur in the background, after-images left behind his eyelids when he closed them for a moment. Those halls and rooms that had changed, those statues and portraits that were gone, he mourned even them. They had been additional losses from the whole senseless battle. _A battle,_ he ground his teeth as he stomped down a flight of stairs, _which could have been prevented, had Dumbledore been honest with me!_ He thumped his fist on the banister, starting to shake in rage.

Who knows what might have happened had his fury been given reign. At that moment, however, a familiar sound echoed down the corridor. Those taunting laughs, the jeering- his heart leaped up into his throat and he pulled out his wand. Creeping softly down the rest of the stairs, he inched his way along the shadowed walls until he came to the origin of the noise. A group of students, some with their hoods up to cover their faces, some without, had cornered someone. Harry could see a wand not a foot away from him on the stone floor; whoever they'd captured was disarmed, helpless. The monster that lived inside of him roared its wrath to the heavens, but the warrior kept it in check. Using a nonverbal _Accio!_ he summoned the wand to his hand. He was trying to decide what would work best on a group like that, when he heard the familiar, deep, rasping voice of Gregory Goyle.

"_You'll get yours now, you fucking slimy ferret…"_ It clicked right then who it was that was cornered, and what the mob wanted with him. _They've go Malfoy!_

Without having to think about it, Harry raised his wand and a powerful Shield Charm burst into existence between the assailants and the familiar blonde. Harry kept his wand aimed up as he rounded the corner and trained it on Goyle's shocked face. "Now wait up," his voice came out surprisingly steady, calm even. "I'm the only one allowed to call Malfoy a ferret. After all, that was his punishment for trying to curse me, right?" He risked a glance at Malfoy to see how badly he was injured. There was some blood at the corner of his mouth, and a bruise blossoming across his cheek, but otherwise he didn't look like they'd had much of a chance to harm him yet. Relief washed through him as their eyes met.

His periphery caught movement and with a quick slashing flourish of his wand, Goyle was disarmed and harmless. Mostly. Now he was playing a dangerous game with the gang. Their leader was useless, but if they felt like their prey was weak, they might just attack anyways. His grip on his anger loosened a little. It flowed into his limbs and brain, kept him keener than them, hungry for action than they were. The survival instincts had kicked into overdrive, and now he _wanted_ to win, not just to stop all of this. As if catching the change in his mood, the rest of the little band shifted nervously. Goyle, being the keen sort of individual that he was, seemed to be completely oblivious. He scoffed and tried to save face, "And what-"

"Stop there, Goyle." Harry growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't want to say anything to piss me off right now…" The two kept their eyes locked on each other, though Harry could see Draco watching him closely with a strange look of astonishment. Time seemed to drag by while they faced off in silence.

Finally someone muttered something under their breath about going to the bathroom, and the group used the excuse to trickle away from their defeated chief. For a moment, Harry worried that they might circle around him or turn and hit him as they were leaving, but everyone moved off until only the three of them remained.

Goyle, in a moment of brilliance, realized that he was no outnumbered and outclassed. With a trollish sneer he looked back towards Malfoy, his voice only just betraying his nervous mood, "Yer lucky this time, Malfoy. Next time, your guard dog won' be here to rescue you." Nothing left to say and his poor brain overworked, he lumbered off down the stairs to retrieve his wands and lick his wounds (possibly literally, as far as Harry was concerned).

Wand still trained at the stairs, Harry didn't think for a moment that they were safe until there had been silence, uninterrupted, for at least a full minute. Once it seemed that the menace had _actually_ departed, Harry lowered his wand and turned his attention back to the prideful Slytherin before him. _Poor guy looks completely wacked… _Again, for the third time in just a couple months, Harry felt a stab of sympathy for his nemesis. A wave of his wand brought the shield down and he tossed the familiar hawthorn wand back to its owner and tried for a bit of sarcasm to break the tension between them, "You really ought to have learned- sneaking down corridors is dangerous at night."

When Malfoy did nothing but gape at him wordlessly, Harry had to fight the urge to smile. It was a little bizarre, wasn't it? Well, perhaps not. They both had debts to each other that seemed to keep stacking up. Remembering the wizarding manners that Kreacher had been trying to drill into his head all summer, he gave the silent boy a slight bow of his head and spoke in what he hoped was a soothing manner, "Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy."

By the time he'd made it back to his bunk, the smile that had been fighting to get through had finally broken out on his face- a private, tight smile that still carried the glee of one-upping Malfoy.

_I'm tacking on another ten Galleons for that._

* * *

A/N: There's the next two chapters! My beta has been super busy, so I've posted these without her going through them. If she makes any changes, I'll post the edited chapters with the next pair of chapters and let you all know about it. If she doesn't make any changes, then it doesn't matter, does it? XD


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